


The Void Left Behind

by Taliya



Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Angst, Arc: Stay Away From Him! c007 | e013 | o006 (Magic Kaito) Spoilers, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Character Study, Depression, Developing Friendships, Explicit Language, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Trauma, Suicide Attempt, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:49:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26022202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taliya/pseuds/Taliya
Summary: Grief was a terrible thing to witness.  Kudou Shinichi had seen more than his fair share as a Division One consultant homicide detective.  He never expected Kaitou KID to sympathize with Nakamori Ginzo’s pain as deeply as he did, nor did he expect KID’s suspected civilian counterpart to act on that pain.  Character death.  Rated for mental illness, blood, suicide attempt, and language.
Relationships: Hakuba Saguru & Kudou Shinichi | Edogawa Conan, Hakuba Saguru & Kuroba Kaito | Kaitou Kid, Kudou Shinichi | Edogawa Conan & Kuroba Kaito | Kaitou Kid, Kuroba Kaito | Kaitou Kid & Nakamori Aoko, Kuroba Kaito | Kaitou Kid & Nakamori Ginzou, Kuroba Kaito | Kaitou Kid/Nakamori Aoko
Comments: 10
Kudos: 95





	The Void Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> _Detective Conan_ and _Magic Kaito_ characters, settings, and ideas do not belong to me but to Aoyama Gōshō.
> 
> \---
> 
> Warnings: Major character death, angst, grief, depression, suicide attempt, injuries, blood, unresolved psychological trauma, _Magic Kaito_ Ch. 7/Ep. 13/Sp. 6 spoilers, explicit language

The news was hushed, but it spread quickly throughout the entire police department. Even twenty-year-old Kudou Shinichi, consultant to Division One and sporadic visitor to headquarters, heard it from a downtrodden Assistant Inspector Satou Miwako.

A young woman had died late last night. She was the same age as him, twenty years of age, and only child of an inspector in Division Two.

Her name was Nakamori Aoko.

It had been a hit and run, Satou had said. She had been headed home after a late night on the university campus. It had been raining, the road had been slick, and she had happened to be crossing the street when a driver had failed to see her until the last minute. Slamming on the brakes had only caused the vehicle to fishtail and spin out of control, and she had been the only one on the street. There had been no witnesses, just a water-bloated body that had been found the next morning. CCTVs had been unable to get a clear shot of the license plate. The driver had never come out of the car to check on her.

Shinichi had met her a handful of times over the years, particularly after he had returned to his proper age upon both exposing the Organization and taking the final antidote that Haibara Ai had managed to formulate for him. Nakamori Aoko had been a smiling force of nature in her own right, fiery and passionate about capturing Kaitou KID, and yet kind and considerate with a hint of childish innocence.

It was she who would bring wrapped bento to heist locations whenever her father had forgotten to eat dinner. It was she who would cheer for the capture of the phantom thief in the midst of his fans. It was she who would wish him the best of luck at catching the magician whenever they met up prior to a heist.

It was also she who had introduced him to her best friend since childhood, Kuroba Kaito.

Shinichi grudgingly had to agree with Hakuba Saguru on this one: Kuroba Kaito was one hell of a suspicious character with regards to Kaitou KID. He was a magician in his own right, and he was also a near dead ringer for his own appearance. While Shinichi had never actually witnessed Kuroba in action, the tales that the blond detective had told painted a detailed enough picture. The Modern Day Holmes was not about to place suspicion on Kuroba without hard evidence, but it was almost irresistibly difficult to keep from slapping Kuroba with KID’s name and calling it a day when his gut told him that Nakamori’s friend and the phantom thief were one and the same.

He wondered how Kuroba was handling everything, especially considering there was a Kaitou KID heist planned tonight—or even the inspector, for that matter. Hakuba had already informed him that he would be in attendance as duty ever called, and Shinichi was caught between wanting to attend the heist to see how KID was faring and wanting to avoid the heist because he just _knew_ how awkward it was going to be.

Shinichi had learned through his interactions with the younger Nakamori and Kuroba that they were next-door neighbors, and he had even been invited over to the Nakamori household to sleep after one memorable KID heist that had run far past the time the trains had stopped. He resolved to attend the heist, if for no other reason than to check that KID was doing as well as could be considering the circumstances, and then he was popping down to Kuroba’s house after. If he scheduled in additional transit time to account for Kuroba’s travel via hang glider or whatever other method of transportation he used, well, it was no one’s business than his own.

So here he was, fifteen minutes until the hour of KID’s announced heist and witness to the most subdued atmosphere he had ever encountered at a Kaitou KID heist. The cheering crowds outside the office tower did not count; they were not privy to the tragedy that had occurred so recently within the police ranks. The blond-haired Hakuba was also present, his mouth pinched into a frown as his eyes switched between scanning his surroundings and checking his pocket watch.

Tonight’s heist was in the Mori Art Museum on the fifty-third floor of the Roppongi Hills Mori Tower. The Ivory Moon was a large oval moonstone worked into an abstract sculpture that was supposed to represent a walk through a moonlit forest. Shinichi was not sure how KID was planning on extracting the gem, unless he was either coming armed with a chisel and hammer or was prepared to filch the entire one-meter tall bronze statue that had been placed in the entry foyer for incoming guests to see as they lined up to purchase entry tickets.

Nakamori Ginzo, the detective was highly reluctant to admit, looked beyond terrible, as though he had aged a hundred years since the last time he had seen the officer. His face was ashen and his expression dull, and there was an air of listlessness to him that Shinichi had never once seen on the man. The fire in his eyes was extinguished, and all that Shinichi wanted to do was convince the man that he did not have to be here, that he could take time off for bereavement—but he was still not even out of college and a consultant at that, and therefore had no say in the inspector’s actions.

“How do you think KID is doing?” Hakuba asked quietly, breaking Shinichi’s contemplation on the inspector even as the blond’s blue eyes studied the head of the Kaitou KID Task Force.

“Provided that KID is indeed the person you suspect him to be,” the brunet caveated, “probably not well.”

There was a moment of silence before the half-Briton said, “I think he will cancel this heist.”

Shinichi blinked, startled. The idea was not… surprising, when he thought about it, but… “What makes you say that? He’d announced this heist three days ago.” The Tokyo native was curious as to the blond’s reasoning.

“KID, by now, has likely heard the news. And considering his seemingly irrational capacity for compassion regarding those who desire to arrest him, it would not be out of the realm of possibility that he would call it off to allow everyone here time to grieve.”

“True,” Shinichi conceded. “I guess we shall just have to see.”

Hakuba consulted his watch again. “Two minutes twenty-eight and seven-hundredths seconds left.”

They fell quiet for the remaining time, Shinichi splitting his attention between watching the heist target and monitoring the inspector as the Task Force members formed a perimeter around atrium, with more men standing before the off-shooting hallways. When the announced heist time arrived, Kaitou KID simply entered the atrium by way of the elevator.

There was a cheerful _ding_ that announced the arrival of someone despite the fact that the elevators had been blocked off for the heist. The phantom thief stepped out, and there was no fanfare or energy to his entrance. It was as though he was just a regular— _normal_ —person getting off the elevator. Shinichi was positive he was not the only person weirded out by the magician’s stark change in behavior, though that was not the only thing that had changed about the thief.

KID had altered his attire. His suit was still its usual white, but the cerulean of his shirt and hat band and the crimson of his tie were gone; the blue had been replaced by black and the red with white. He had made himself monochrome—had tamed the normal vibrancy of his outfit—as a nod of respect to the late daughter of the inspector.

Even his expression was different. Instead of the wide, mocking grin, there was only a poignant solemnity that looked _wrong_ in every aspect on the phantom thief. It was enough to stop the Task Force in their tracks, all of the men decked in armor watching KID with similar airs of misery. The magician stood for a long moment before the now closed elevator doors, taking in the atmosphere before his gaze landed on Inspector Nakamori.

“Keibu,” he admonished gently as he approached the man with a soft swish of fabric, though he stopped far enough away to escape any unexpectedly grabby hands, “why are you here tonight?”

Nakamori straightened up, as if indignant. “KID, I—"

“Go home, keibu,” KID interrupted softly but sternly. The command drew gasps and murmurs of shock from the Division Two officers present, and Shinichi was struck by how tired KID sounded, how wrung out he metaphorically looked. His outfit was as starched and pressed and he looked as put together as he ever was, but there was still an odd sense of deadened detachment about him. “I’m cancelling this heist as a way of paying my respects to your daughter, Nakamori Aoko.”

“You…” Nakamori started, swallowing thickly as his expression scrunched and his mustache bristled with his grief. “You knew of her?”

The thief smiled softly, kindly, sadly, as if gently chiding an errant child—the irony. “Of course, I knew her, keibu, just as I know every officer and detective here,” he said with a small but sweeping gesture to indicate everyone present, himself and Hakuba included. His grin faded away, and he regarded the inspector seriously. “Go home, keibu—go home and properly grieve instead of putting up a brave front.”

Nakamori shook his head stubbornly as he clenched his hands at his sides. “I can’t—she would have wanted you caught,” he explained, his voice cracking midway through his explanation.

KID silently studied the shuddering inspector, contemplated his words before coming to a decision. “You’re sure this is what she would have wanted?” he asked, seeking confirmation.

The inspector nodded once, jerkily.

The magician sighed deeply then, and in a move completely uncharacteristic of his normal demeanor—in a way that revealed just how _human_ the phantom thief was—he tipped his hat forwards with one hand to scratch the back part of his head beneath the accessory with the other hand, a noticeable slump shortening his height. He resettled the top hat on his head as he straightened his back to almost painful rigidity, angling the front of the brim sharper than he normally did to fully cover his eyes and add extra depth to the shadows masking his face.

“Then, before I officially begin the heist, could I request that we have a moment of silence for the inspector’s daughter?” KID announced, speaking loud enough so that every officer and detective present could hear, and at everyone’s nod of assent, they collectively bowed their heads, KID included.

Shinichi discretely observed from where he stood, watched as the thief’s jaw minutely clenched and relaxed, watched as gloved fingers spasmed ever so slightly, watched as the thin lips trembled faintly. And he was once again awed by both the sheer control the thief had over his outward expression and the depth of the man’s compassion.

“Thank you, everyone,” KID said, breaking the deferential silence after a solid minute had passed—according to Hakuba’s almost inaudible mutter—and so saying, he lifted his face up towards the darkened ceiling as his posture lapsed into something slouched and undefinably somber.

It began with scattered, filmy flutters of white that caused many of the Task Force to jump in surprise, which slowly increased into a delicate snowfall that lightly blanketed the entire floor. Shinichi caught some of it in his hand and quickly recognized the flowers and petals falling down to be a mixture of white sweet pea, zinnia, and freesia. His blue eyes lifted from his cupped hand to gaze sadly at the stock-still magician, understanding flooding his entire being.

_Blissful pleasure._

_Innocence._

_Thoughts of absent friends._

_Tender memories._

_Friendship._

_I mourn your absence._

_Departure._

_Trust._

_Goodbye._

This show, this silent, gorgeous display of showering blossoms completely unrelated to the heist, was Kaitou KID’s way of paying his respects to Nakamori Aoko. His eyes widened in astonished disbelief as he watched a clear bead of liquid form at the point of the thief’s chin.

Kaitou KID was _crying_.

 _Oh,_ KID _,_ he thought, his heart breaking in sympathy as he watched the thief struggle to pull himself back together behind the curtain of lightly scented blossoms. A solid layer of white flora littered the floor by the time it stopped showering petals. The detective wondered how much it had cost the thief to purchase all of those flowers, and then how he had managed to install the mechanisms required to release them from the ceiling in such a short amount of time. Something to ponder at a later date, he decided, since KID seemed to give himself a mental shake and straightened his posture.

Momentarily wrapping himself with his cloak, he produced from its folds a beautifully arranged bouquet of all white flowers: Adonis, daisies, calendulas, lilacs, baby’s breath, edelweiss, violets. With slow, quiet steps he approached the inspector. When he was within grabbing distance—dangerous, for him—KID bent forwards in a respectful bow as he offered the bouquet. “My condolences, Nakamori-keibu,” he murmured softly, his voice holding none of his usual rancorous glee.

“Th-Thank you,” Nakamori choked out as he accepted the flowers. Shinichi wondered what thoughts were running through the man’s mind. Snag the thief when he was quietly, respectfully standing a mere meter away? Gape in disbelief at the fact that KID had given him a gift more thoughtful than he could have imagined? Feel somewhat creeped out that the magician knew the names and faces of all of his pursuers here in Tokyo?

“The bouquet’s meaning carries my thoughts regarding your daughter,” KID quietly explained. “This particular flower, however, is meant specifically for you.” He produced a single bloom, a white azalea, with a flick of his wrist that he made appear in the inspector’s breast pocket after receiving a nod of cautious permission to continue. All the while, he kept his face shielded with the angled brim of his hat and a steep tilt of his chin.

_Temperance._

_Fragility._

_Take care of yourself for me._

It was yet another gesture of immense care from KID, directly to one of his most ardent and vocal opponents. Shinichi was not sure if Nakamori knew precisely what the azalea meant, but from the sharp intake of breath next to him, it was clear that Hakuba did.

“Oh, that… that sodding _idiot_ ,” the half-Briton breathed, and a quick glance showed Hakuba pursing his lips in an attempt to keep them from wobbling even as his eyes welled with unshed tears.

“KID,” Nakamori murmured, stunned.

KID smiled crookedly as he took several steps back and swept his arms out wide in a welcoming gesture. “Ladies and gentlemen!” he trumpeted with a joyfulness so false that every Task Force member visibly winced, “It’s showtime!” He abruptly swung his hands down, and the instantly room disappeared in thick, cloying white mist. There was, however, a jarring lack of echoing laughter and mocking taunts—the scuffle of boots on the ground and equipment being shuffled, along with shouts of various orders to block whichever hallway were present, but it was as if the heist was occurring without KID himself being present.

It was decidedly eerie, and it made Shinichi’s skin crawl.

The brunet coughed as he made a beeline towards where he thought the Ivory Moon was in the fog. The thief had been kind enough this time to not douse the place in sleeping gas. The Tokyoite arrived at the statue at the same time as Hakuba, but a close squint through the cloudiness at the statue made it clear that the moonstone was gone. He wondered if that faint flutter of cloth he had heard during his approach to the statue had been KID.

Hoping his mental map would not fail him, Shinichi spun and dashed towards where he knew one of the emergency stairwells was, Hakuba hot on his heels. He found the heavy door and pushed, reflexively dodging the netting that was jettisoned at him when the doorway had opened. The blond was not quite so lucky.

“Go after him!” Hakuba barked from his position trapped on the floor, and Shinichi wasted no time hauling up the stairs, three at a time. He went all the way to the roof, where he predicted KID would be, and eased the door to the rooftop as quietly as possible in order to squeeze himself outside. A quiet run up a set of metal stairs to the helicopter pad had Shinichi freezing as he spotted the thief.

KID stood at the center of the helipad, gaze fixed on the moonstone in his hand as he held it up to its namesake. The subdued mood that he had arrived in had returned, evidenced in the weary slope of his back and the lax energy of his body. He suddenly clenched the gem in his fist and pressed it to the band of his hat, above the brim as he bowed his head. Shinichi heard a hiccupped sob escape KID, saw his shoulders hitch and his mouth curve into a silent, agonized grimace. The raw grief that KID emanated had his own eyes welling up in sympathy, and the involuntary sniffle had the thief jerking his head in the detective’s direction.

“Ah…! Meitantei,” KID choked out, and Shinichi watched as the thief valiantly pulled some shattered semblance of a smile back onto his face despite the glittery sheen of the tears that were crawling down his cheeks. “It wasn’t what I was looking for, so here.” He unexpectedly flung the gem at Shinichi, who yelped and fumbled the unexpected moonstone for several seconds before securely grasping it. “Please give Nakamori-keibu my regards,” KID said while Shinichi played hot potato with the jewel and fled towards the edges of the helipad.

“KID, wait—!” Shinichi shouted desperately, though by the time he called out KID had made it to the edge of the platform and had already swan dived off. The Tokyo native sighed as he stared after where he had last seen the white-clad magician, the organs in his chest tied up in knots as cheers erupted from the streets far below at a KID sighting.

He loitered for a few seconds more before making the trip back to the Mori Art Museum’s lobby. Hakuba had already been freed from his netting, so the brunet did not have to worry about accidentally tripping over the blond as he exited the stairwell. It was still ridiculously cloudy inside, and the HVAC systems had done little to dissipate the smoke. Shinichi was forced to grope his way around and call himself out frequently like some odd form of the “Marco Polo” pool game to ensure that he did not accidentally run into anyone.

Rather than try to find the inspector in all of the fog, Shinichi opted for a simple text to the man. Within the message, he stated that he had come across KID on the roof and had reclaimed the Ivory Moon, though the phantom thief had escaped him. He also wrote that he would swing by the station the day after to fill out any paperwork necessary due to his participation in said heist. He received a confirmation from Nakamori. That done, Shinichi returned to the stairwell and began a walk down to the next level to catch the elevator back to the ground floor.

Shinichi sneaked his way off the Roppongi Hills Mori Tower property, eager to avoid the overly zealous fans of the phantom thief, along with any members of the mass media. The detective knew he would not be able to hide his mood, and the death of the inspector’s daughter was not something to be casually bandied about on national television.

He managed to escape to his silver BMW M4—a welcome-back-from-being-shrunken gift from his mother, the crazy woman—parked in a remote garage several blocks away. He peeled out of the space and made his way from his current location in Minato to his destination in Nerima, directions to the Nakamori household rattled out on his phone’s GPS. The thirty-five-minute drive was spent worrying about KID, and Shinichi dreaded the state he might possibly find Kuroba in—provided his hunch and Hakuba’s accusations were correct, of course.

But even _if_ Kuroba was KID, Shinichi had no inclination whatsoever to attempt an arrest this time around. He intended to visit Kuroba as a civilian, not as an enforcer of the law. Nakamori was probably still at the Mori Art Museum dealing with the heist’s aftermath, leaving Kuroba alone for the first evening since Nakamori Aoko’s death. Shinichi did not want Kuroba to bear with that kind of heaviness alone.

Shinichi pulled up to a nondescript house ensconced in a comfortably wealthy neighborhood. The nameplate of the house read, “Nakamori”, but it was the neighboring corner lot house with the nameplate, “Kuroba”, that he was interested in. There was a car parked in front of Kuroba’s unilluminated house—a sleek, high-end Mercedes-Benz coupe, if he was not mistaken. It seemed out of place—too luxurious for the neighborhood’s aesthetics…

… not that he had much room to stand on with his own vehicle.

The detective got out of his car and made his way towards the Kuroba home. He froze as he slipped past the yard gate upon spying a shadowed form hovering just before Kuroba’s unlit front door. Creeping closer, he could hear the figure hiss as loudly as he dared, “Kuroba-kun? Kuroba-kun, I know you’re in there so open the bloody door already!” while tentatively banging on the door, and Shinichi finally pegged where he had heard the voice before. That diction was unmistakable.

Hakuba Saguru.

The blond halted his beating of the door and pulled out his phone to presumably dial Kuroba. Shinichi approached the other detective and softly called out so as not to startle him, “Hakuba-kun.”

The half-Briton spun, expression and body language relaxing as he identified who had addressed him. Hakuba gave him a brief nod in greeting, which Shinichi silently replied in kind as the pair waited for the blond’s call to pick up. After a period of waiting, Hakuba muttered a curse under his breath and stalked over to the front door. He pulled out one item from his pocket: his wallet, from which he fished out something from inside before replacing the fold of leather back where it belonged. A swipe and a tap, and the flashlight feature on his phone brightly illuminated a small circle of the doorstep. Hakuba clenched the phone upside down with his teeth as he knelt before the door, angling his head so that the light shone on the sole deadlock.

“You own a set of _lock picks_?” Shinichi asked incredulously as he watched the blond wiggle two thin tools into the keyhole of the lock. “You _do_ realize possession of those is illegal in Japan, right?”

Hakuba hummed in response, and Shinichi rolled his eyes before expectantly holding out a hand to allow his fellow detective to drop the phone from his mouth. “Thank you,” the blond said after working his jaw a few times to relax tense muscles. The brunet angled the phone so that its light shone once again on the lock. “To answer your question, yes, I do know that lock picks are illegal here. In my defense, after getting locked in or out of various places at KID heists enough times, my father decided that he would rather have me able to get in or out on my own as opposed to waiting for someone to find me. I always carry a signed and notarized document explaining my possession of said tools in my wallet as a result.”

 _Nepotism,_ Shinichi thought somewhat humorously, though he did not say it out loud. It was, in all honesty, a reasonable tool to have if one frequently engaged in battle of any sort with Kaitou KID.

After a surprisingly short wait of approximately a minute, Hakuba popped the lock open with a triumphant, _“Ha!”_ He had not expected the blond to be _quite_ so proficient at picking locks, but after what he had just been told…

The half-Briton replaced the lock pick set in his wallet and turned the flashlight feature off and after Shinichi returned the phone. Pocketing the device, Hakuba gave the door one last knock with a hissed, “Kuroba-kun, I’m coming inside!” before he twisted the knob, opened the door, and eased himself inside.

The interior was completely dark and silent. Both of the detectives murmured quiet apologies for the intrusion and slid their shoes off. From what he could tell, Kuroba Kaito’s home was fairly unexceptional as far as home décor went, though with how dim it was, details were difficult to discern. Shinichi followed Hakuba through the main hallway in socked feet, a silent shadow as the blond softly called out and poked his head in various rooms on the ground floor. Once they had finished checked every room there, they went upstairs to do the same.

The room Hakuba immediately went for upon clearing the stairs had a closed door, and Shinichi assumed that beyond the door was Kuroba’s bedroom, since all of the rooms he could see had otherwise open doorways. Hakuba knocked lightly this time, whispering, “Kuroba-kun?”

Silence.

Hakuba tested the doorknob. 

Locked.

“Kuroba-kun, I know you’re in there. Please open the door.”

More silence.

Shinichi felt an ominous tension coil in his gut as the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and he became very cognizant of the dread that suddenly suffused his entire being. He did not get this sort of feeling often, but the times that he _had_ had pointed towards something terrible happening in the immediate future, and the only times he had ever felt this way was whenever there was _an impending death or major disaster_. “Hakuba-kun,” Shinichi hissed urgently, “we need to get in there _now_.”

“What?” the blond asked, confused. “Why?”

“Just a feeling,” the brunet breathed with increasing alarm, “but every time I’ve felt this way, someone has almost always ended up dead. I think—I think Kuroba-kun’s going to commit suicide!”

Hakuba eyed the locked door and swore fervently, _“Fuck!”_

“Back up,” Shinichi barked, no longer trying to remain quiet, and once Hakuba was out of the way, he kicked at the doorknob with all his might. The metal contraption disappeared through the splintery hole his foot had made as seemingly every nerve in his right foot lit up in fiery rebuke at the action. He had forgotten that he had no shoes on, and there were definitely shards of wood embedded in his sole. The rapid dampening of his sock was proof enough.

Shinichi dislodged his foot from the door and hopped backwards and to the side on his uninjured foot, hissing between clenched teeth at just how much that action had _hurt_ as he lowered himself to the floor and tried to coherently think past the sheer agony in his heel. Hakuba yanked the door open so hard the panel of wood slammed and juddered off the hallway wall before he dashed inside. “Kuroba-kun!” he shouted, Shinichi’s sense of urgency lending a shrillness to his voice. The Tokyoite unfolded himself enough to awkwardly hop-scoot in after the blond. His heart froze as he heard a snarled, “God _fucking_ DAMN IT!” in English, as terror had the half-Briton unconsciously reverting back to his native tongue.

The blond blew past his line of sight in a whirl of frenetic energy as Shinichi finally noticed what had caught the other detective’s attention: the silhouette of a body through the window blinds, swaying gently but otherwise still and hanging from the edge of the roof on the balcony. Shinichi’s stomach completely dropped out. _Oh, no… Dear gods above, please_ no _…_

Hakuba roughly shoved a computer swivel chair across the room and out the glass sliding door, and Shinichi could see based on the shadows and thump on the glass how Hakuba had braced the backrest against the glass so that he could test the chair’s stability with a foot. Deeming the impromptu stepstool good enough, he fully stood on the chair to check the body. Shinichi finally hopped out and around the balcony to be close enough to hear a repetitive pleaded litany in English of, “Comeoncomeoncomeon _comeoncomeon…_ ” as Hakuba tried to loosen the noose from around Kuroba Kaito’s neck with desperate, scrabbling fingers. 

“Bloody fucking _bollocks_!” The detective nearly fell over in surprise as the blond abruptly launched himself off the chair and made a mad scramble for the sliding door. “I need a bloody knife!” he howled as he tore out Kuroba’s bedroom and thundered down the stairs for the kitchen below.

“Words,” the Tokyoite could not help but tiredly mumble with ironic gallows humor as he returned his attention to Kuroba, hopping as quickly as he could to the man with gritted teeth. His foot throbbed with each impact he made against the concrete floor, and it was a constant battle not to just curl up on the ground with every jump he made. Kuroba’s hand was still warm to the touch, and—Shinichi could have crumpled to the ground in relief had he not been bracing himself against the window—there was a fluttering, barely-there pulse when he checked on the wrist.

Kuroba was still alive, but only just. He was decidedly unconscious, and under the light of the full moon, Shinichi could see a swollen tongue poking past darkly flushed lips. Yoshikawa lines scored his neck, and there was corresponding blood crusting beneath his fingertips. Judging by how Kuroba had set everything up, the rope had somehow been anchored to the rooftop, and he had used the balcony parapet as his stepstool, since there was no other means of reaching such a height within easy reaching distance.

 _I should have been able to see this!_ Shinichi berated at himself as he dabbed at his face with a handkerchief. He was sweating from a combination of the pain he was in and the exertion of not only ignoring said pain, but from also moving about in a highly unconventional manner. _From where I was on the street I should have—oh._ His view of the street from his current vantage point was fully blocked by the summer foliage of a rather tall tree of the deciduous variety. _No wonder._

Any further observations were interrupted by Hakuba’s unceremonious return, wild-eyed and frantic in both movement and energy. The brunet instinctively reared back at the sight of the glinting santoku blade in his hand as the half-Briton careened around the balcony’s corner, but quickly overrode his hindbrain instincts in order to hop forwards and support Kuroba’s weight as best he could, pacing his breaths as he tested his weight on his injured foot. Hakuba climbed the chair and began sawing hurriedly but carefully through the rope above Kuroba’s head.

“Almost through,” Hakuba muttered, and Shinichi braced himself, ignoring the pain in his injured foot as much as he could. There was a quiet _snap_ and agony lit up Shinichi’s brain as the combined mass of both himself and Kuroba drove the embedded splinters completely beneath the skin.

He shrieked as he collapsed under both weight and pain, though he was irrationally proud of the fact that he had managed to soften Kuroba’s landing by using himself as a cushion. There was a clatter of steel not too far away, and then Hakuba was tearing the remains of the noose from Kuroba’s neck as Shinichi desperately tried to get enough of a grip on himself to once more think beyond the agonized wailing of his nerves.

Kuroba sucked in a deep, wheezing breath that had him coughing and sputtering in short order, and with Hakuba’s help, Shinichi somehow managed to scoot himself from beneath the still unconscious man so that Hakuba could lay him in recovery position on the balcony floor. Despite the overwhelming joy and relief he felt at having kept this man from killing himself, the brunet could do little more than curl into a little ball and gingerly clutch at his throbbing foot. 

Somewhere in the background, he heard Hakuba making a phone call requesting an ambulance. An additional worried inquiry from the blond had him panting out, “It’s nothing that I can’t handle, I’m fine.” Hakuba ended the call by rattling out Kuroba’s address before hanging up.

“I’ll get him inside first, then come help you in as well. Please remain where you are for now,” Hakuba instructed as he carefully maneuvered the limp Kuroba into a fireman’s lift. The blond finally stood with a wobble and a grunt; clearly he was unused to lifting objects as heavy as another person. Hakuba disappeared around the corner, and Shinichi exhaled with a measured breath as another bead of sweat rolled down his temple. _Based on how much pain I’m in and the fact that I just kicked a metal doorknob through the door with what essentially amounts to a bare foot, there’s a decent chance that I’ve broken my heel, embedded splinters notwithstanding._

Hakuba came back outside within a few minutes, gently helping Shinichi to his feet and forcing him to sit in the swivel chair. “Do you need me to call you an ambulance as well?”

“No, thank you,” was Shinichi’s stubborn reply. “I’ll go to the hospital only when he’s on his way. I want to keep an eye on Kuroba-kun,” he said as he was then given the dubious honor of being wheeled into Kuroba’s now illuminated bedroom via computer chair. “My foot is a minor detail compared to him trying to kill himself.”

“You still shouldn’t just brush an injury like that aside,” the blond insisted as he pointed to the partially mangled doorknob on the floor. Hakuba rolled him to a stop before the bed, where Kuroba had been placed on once again in recovery position. “At least let me take a look at it, if there’s time. I’ve no doubt that you’re bleeding from that stunt and will probably have some serious infection issues to battle, now wait here and _don’t move_ while I get a few things.”

Shinichi huffed. “Only after you’ve looked at him first!” he called after the retreating half-Briton before turning his attention to Kuroba, who had been neatly tucked underneath the bed covers. The coloration of his lips had faded to a more natural color, though in the light Shinichi could now see splotches of petechiae across his cheeks, along with the starkly darkening single bruise of a ligature mark that wrapped itself around his throat. The Yoshikawa lines perpendicular to the bruise were still sluggishly bleeding. Two fingers pressed against the pulse point on his wrist proved that Kuroba’s heart rate had strengthened and stabilized, further easing the knot of anxiety that had formed earlier in his chest.

After the detective had finished taking in the details of Kuroba’s injuries, he then noticed that there was an unexplainable, massive pile of rumpled white cloth on the bed behind him which was interspersed with edges of scalloped lace.

“I’ve heard stories about that dress,” Hakuba murmured, a first aid kit, bottle of painkillers, and a glass of water in hand as he settled on the edge of the bed near Kuroba’s head. Shinichi was given the bottle of pills and glass of water, to which he thanked the blond and gulped down two caplets of acetaminophen. He then watched as Hakuba laid out cotton pads, gauze, tape, scissors, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and a tube of antibiotic ointment on the bed next to the unconscious man before beginning to painstakingly clean Kuroba’s neck.

“I missed out on the actual event, since I was home in London visiting my mother,” he began. “There was a class trip in our second year of high school where they all went to a ski resort over the winter holidays. Somehow there ended up being a downhill slope costume contest, and Kuroba-kun and Nakamori-kun won first place dressed as Kaitou KID and a—princess? bride? Regardless, Nakamori-kun was wearing _that_.” With a tilt of his head, he gestured to what Shinichi now recognized as a white dress. “I was told afterwards that she looked to be a believable bride to Kaitou KID.”

“And he’s kept it all this time?” Shinichi murmured in quiet wonder. Sharp but pain-weary eyes only then picked out the faint spots of discoloration on the most wrinkled parts of the dress. Kuroba had wept repeatedly over the article of clothing, had clutched it tightly as he had cried. His heart further broke in sympathy for the man.

Hakuba hummed in agreement. “As it has been described to me, their turn down the ski slope truly was a spectacle. Kuroba-kun apparently executed some very technically difficult jumps, and he landed them all while carrying Nakamori-kun the entire time. He even managed to light up the slope with a combination of fireworks and Christmas lights, and somehow set the resort’s bell ringing as well.” The blond sighed heavily, pausing to give his former classmate a look that was truly miserable. “I imagine that to Kuroba-kun, the event was like a dream come true: a highly-cherished fantasy of Nakamori-kun fully accepting him for not only being Kaitou KID, but her husband as well. It’s one rather big dream of his that’s… beyond his reach now.”

It was something Shinichi could easily imagine after having observed the two together a handful of times. Despite how loudly and frequently they bickered, the affection they regarded one another with was undeniable. Thinking of how the pair interacted with each other—first childhood friends with badly hidden crushes and secretive circumstances that kept them apart—made him think of his own situation while he had been Edogawa Conan.

He thought about what it would be like to lose Ran—a fear that he had felt multiple times over during the course of his pursual of the Black Organization—and he found yet again that he could not even _attempt_ to imagine it. The very thought of such a thing happening made the slowly dulling ache in his foot a distant sensation in comparison.

Hakuba, now finished applying ointment, began the process of wrapping Kuroba’s neck with gauze. Shinichi leaned forwards to help, holding the man’s head just high enough from the pillows to give Hakuba’s hands clearance with the roll. The Tokyo native helped tape down the end of the gauze once Hakuba had completed covering the entirety of Kuroba’s wounds before reluctantly propping the calf of his injured foot on the other detective’s knee at the blond’s wordless glare.

It was at that point, nearly ten minutes after Hakuba had made that call, that Shinichi could hear distant sirens wailing—and approaching—from the still-open sliding door. “They’re here,” he breathed in relief, and he gingerly tugged his foot off Hakuba’s lap.

The blond rose and said, “I’ll go downstairs and let them in, and once they take him, we’re following.” The words were spoken in a no-nonsense tone, and he had barely given Shinichi any time at all to counter before he was gone from the room. Shinichi merely huffed at the concern hidden beneath frostily polite mannerisms.

In rapid order there were two paramedics in the bedroom. He watched as they transitioned Kuroba from the bed to the gurney and set him up with an oxygen mask before he was trundled down the stairs and out of the house. Hakuba closed the sliding door and then assisted him by way of an arm slung over his shoulder, and the two of them awkwardly made their way down the stairs. They slipped their shoes on—or rather, Hakuba helped Shinichi hop into one loafer and picked up the other one to carry out with him.

Shinichi waited while the blond locked the up the front door, trial and erroring his way through a keyring holding half a dozen or so keys. The brunet then hobbled his way to Hakuba’s Mercedes-Benz, since the blond in no way, shape, or form, was going to allow him to drive his own car to the hospital. “Thank you, Hakuba-kun,” Shinichi said quietly once the blond had begun driving, “for taking me to the hospital.”

“It’s not a problem at all, Kudou-kun. I would have been headed that way even if you had not injured yourself.” Hakuba slowed to a halt at a stop sign while flicking on his signal to indicate that he intended to make a left turn. “I took the liberty of calling Nakamori-keibu to inform him of Kuroba-kun’s current state while the paramedics were taking care of Kuroba-kun. I anticipate that he’ll meet us at the hospital as soon as he is able to get away from the post-heist documentation spree.”

“I see.” Shinichi hesitated at his next words, for although he genuinely wanted to know Hakuba’s opinion as the world’s foremost expert on all things Kaitou KID, he was afraid of hearing just how damaged the thief—again, if Kuroba truly was KID—was as a result of losing Nakamori Aoko in his life. He took a steadying breath. “What’s… what’s your prognosis? On KID, I mean,” he added when Hakuba shot him a quick but quizzical glance.

“On KID?” he repeated with a frown. Hakuba took a lengthy moment to consider the question before he asked rhetorically, “I take it you don’t want me to sugarcoat it, do you?” He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts once more. “Professionally speaking, I believe KID will be able to continue as he always has, pulling heists and stealing gems with his usual flair and aplomb.” In the silence that came after, Shinichi heard the faint creak of protesting leather over the sound of the vehicle’s engine and the friction of the air and ground around the car. “Personally speaking…”

Hakuba took a shivery breath that Shinichi knew did _not_ bode well. “Personally speaking, I don’t think he’s ever going to recover, not in the way most people are eventually able to move past the deepest stages of their grief. KID’s—the second and current one, not the first’s—history of psychological trauma began back when he was still a child. As you are more than aware of my suspicions regarding the identity of the current Kaitou KID, you’ll need to understand some of the Kuroba family history in order to understand why I have come to this conclusion.”

There was a period of tense deliberation on Hakuba’s part, and waiting for him to made a decision on whether or not to trust him made Shinichi tense up in the passenger chair. “What I am about to reveal to you will be spoken under strictest confidence,” he finally said, and the sheer severity of Hakuba’s words made the brunet subconsciously straighten up at both the seriousness with which the topic was being treated, along with how unreservedly intrigued he was by this point. The subtext beneath the blond’s words were clear: _I am trusting you not to do anything irreparably damaging to my friend with the information I am about to give you._

“While I do not believe that Kuroba-kun has gone out of his way to hide his family history, he certainly has had no inclination to bring it up of his own volition in the past, based on my observations of him. Kuroba-kun was eight years old when his father, Kuroba Touichi, died in a stage accident, as the elder Kuroba was a magician by trade. From what I could tell based on body language and nonverbal cues, Kuroba-kun witnessed the event himself.”

Shinichi’s eyes widened in shock at the revelation. How would he have felt, watching and helpless, as his own father died before him, when he was still a child the first time around? He was not given time to further consider the idea as Hakuba plowed on. “Kuroba-kun idolized his father—and still does to this day, if you get him going. He was Kuroba-kun’s entire _world_ : the reason he learned magic, the reason he practiced ninjutsu, the reason he became Kaitou KID.

“Now, granted, Kuroba-kun was probably unaware that his father was masquerading as Kaitou KID during his childhood. The eight-year gap between KID’s appearances back then and now are testament to that fact, as KID’s disappearance coincided suspiciously with Kuroba Touichi’s death, and Aoko-kun had noticed changes in Kuroba-kun’s behavior once KID resurfaced after his hiatus. Bad enough that he suffered watching his father die, but just six months later his mother fled the country and essentially left him on his own.”

Shinichi winced. That… was a much darker past than he had expected for a man who had so much potential—he was still not going to flat out accuse, after all—to be the elusive phantom thief. Hakuba certainly had built a very compelling argument, true, but he had _no solid proof_ to back his conjectures up.

“Kuroba-kun was essentially raised from that point on by the Nakamoris, whom he has known since both he and Aoko-kun were five. They are— _were_ —inseparable, because if you found one, the other was not far behind. Both highly intelligent, kind, and loving people, though sometimes you wouldn’t know it by how immature they are around each other. But their affection for each other was very real, and it showed where it was needed. She was one of his primary pillars of support throughout everything he has been through up until now, barring anything related to being Kaitou KID. Though she had always been very outspoken about his capture, Aoko-kun wanted his arrest more for her father’s sake than out of any true malice towards him. I think it is part of the reason Kuroba-kun has always done his best to treat his surrogate family particularly well in his own way after he picked up the hat and monocle.

“You must understand, Kudou-kun, that Kuroba-kun’s family is a patchwork of absentee biological parents, an aging assistant who used to work alongside his father, and an adoptive father and childhood sweetheart, and between the five of them they made up the foundation of all that he was and is. Out of the five, he’s now lost three—his father, the assistant to cancer a few years back, and now Aoko-kun—and one has been nearly perpetually not present since he was still a child. Kuroba-kun has a history of what I’d imagine he feels to be constant, if unintentional, abandonment from those closest to him. Having only one truly stable pillar remaining who is right now also in bereavement does not leave me feeling particularly optimistic about his state of mind, and that’s not even touching on the fact that I believe his father’s death was, in actuality, a murder framed as a stage accident.”

It was a lot to take in. It was _so much_. And what was this about a _murder_? Shinichi’s mind fairly buzzed with the excess of new information he needed to sift through. So many things about KID—about _Kuroba_ —was starting to make so much sense, and he mentally slapped himself across the head for not teasing all of this information out of Hakuba sooner. That idea was immediately shot down by guilt, for if he had wanted to know so badly, then should he have not gone straight to the source and befriended Kuroba in the first place?

Hakuba fell silent as he pulled into the emergency department’s drop-off bay and cut the engine. “I’m going to have someone to get a wheelchair for you,” he said as he popped the door open.

Shinichi groaned loudly in response, but quickly asked, “Hakuba-kun, would you mind if we talked more later? I still have… questions.”

The blond nodded once in reply and got out of the car. Shinichi watched as Hakuba swiftly strode through the automatic sliding doors and beelined straight for the reception desk, then sighed and leaned back into his seat. Aside from the fact that Hakuba had clearly done his homework regarding the man he claimed was the phantom thief, the biggest question he had for the blond was a simple one. _Why did he threaten me at the beginning of the conversation?_

The door opening next to him startled the brunet, and he found Hakuba standing beside a pair of nurses, one pushing the ever-loathed wheelchair, and the other ready to help him into it. The detective unbuckled himself and slid into the wheelchair, not bothering to hide his scowl of distaste. The blond chuckled before explaining, “I’d taken the liberty of informing them that at a minimum you’ll need X-rays or an MRI scan. The amount of pain you’re in suggests either a very severe sprain or possible broken bone. Plus, you also have a lot of splinters that will need removing, I’d wager.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” Shinichi grumbled as he was handed a clipboard with papers requesting information once they were inside. “Here,” he said, and handed over both the clipboard and his wallet to the surprised half-Briton. “Consider this my answer to what you said earlier.” Inside Shinichi’s wallet was not only his health insurance card, but other things like his driver’s license, credit, and debit cards. He had given Hakuba practically everything he needed to financially ruin Shinichi if he so desired. “If you could fill those forms out for me, I’d be much obliged, Hakuba-kun,” he said lazily as he was wheeled off to a curtained examination bay and helped onto a cot.

The attending physician, with an assisting nurse, for the emergency department first inspected the state of Shinichi’s foot after cutting off his blood-stiffened sock, and Shinichi cringed when the fabric was finally removed. His foot looked like an overinflated foot-shaped balloon. Starting from a little above the knuckles of his toes all to way to the top of his ankle, the skin was taut and red, though thankfully the sock had done its job in keeping the majority of the smaller shards of wood off his skin. Twitching his foot in order to test his range of movement was an exercise in will power as the doctor delicately prodded his foot this way and that.

“Definitely X-rays first,” she muttered as she tore a packet of sterilized stainless-steel tools open with gloved hands. The metal instruments clattered onto a tray atop of one of multiple wheeled carts, each of which were armed with a stockpile of disinfectants, pads, and gauze. “We’ll try to get as many splinters out as we can first before we take you to the X-ray machine. I’d like to keep chances of an infection as low as possible.” To the nurse, she asked, “Did you bring the lidocaine, Matsueda-kun?”

“Here, Uchiyama-sensei,” the nurse answered, handing over a small vial and a capped syringe.

Doctor Uchiyama thanked the man and uncapped the syringe. Poking the needle through the rubber stopper of the vial, she explained to Shinichi, “I’m going to inject this into your foot in multiple places to numb the nerves, as I don’t want you accidentally kicking when I pull out a sliver.”

Shinichi smiled uncomfortably. “I understand,” he weakly replied, and watched as the doctor proceeded to do just that. The sensation of not being able to feel his toes was interesting and not entirely new. The brunet was silent as the doctor waited for the anesthesia to blanket his nerves, and then tested her handiwork with the poke of a fingertip to… _somewhere_ on the sole of his foot.

“We’re ready to begin then.” Shinichi spent the next half an hour knowing that his foot was being actively worked on while barely feeling most of it. Every now and then they would dislodge a piece that had gone deeper, and he would reflexively hiss and flinch, though he tamped down any reaction to lash out as the doctor had been afraid of. Each shard of wood that they would find was deposited in a small stainless-steel tin, and a peek revealed a number of slivers the width of mechanical pencil lead and a handful of those that were considerably larger, slick and shiny with a lacquer of blood.

When Doctor Uchiyama announced that she was finished, Shinichi was help back into the despised wheelchair and pushed into the room housing the X-ray machinery. They had him lie down on a flat bed and covered him all over with heavy, lead-filled blankets except for his foot. The technician snapped images from several different angles by having him face one way or the other, a projected “X” marking where his ankle needed to be in order to be imaged clearly.

After that, it was back to the cot for initial results. Shinichi requested that Hakuba be brought in so that they could talk, as opposed to sitting out in the waiting area on his own. Hakuba was led in shortly afterward.

“Hey,” he called out as the blond seated himself in a hard, plastic chair.

“What’s the news?” Hakuba asked, glancing down at his foot as he held out Shinichi’s wallet.

“X-rays need to be interpreted before anything else,” the brunet answered as he accepted it back. “Thank you. Any news on Kuroba-kun?”

“Nakamori-keiji was here not too long ago. He’s with Kuroba-kun right now. The doctors have… put him on suicide watch in a room in their psych ward,” Hakuba sighed, and Shinichi could not suppress an answering wince. “I honestly wouldn’t be too surprised if they kept him sedated to keep him from escaping.”

Shinichi frowned. “Has he woken up, at least?”

“I was informed that he awoke on the way here and tried to fight his way out. Frankly, I’m not entirely sure how the paramedics managed to sedate him in the first place, knowing the kinds of havoc he can wreck.” The blond rubbed a hand tiredly over his face. “At least he safe.”

“Yeah,” the brunet agreed, and suddenly the weight of everything that had happened within the last four hours came crashing down on him, leaving him exhausted. Still, his curiosity compelled him to ask, “About earlier…”

Hakuba sighed. “I _did_ say we would talk later, but perhaps I’ve given you enough to ruminate over for one night?”

“Please,” Shinichi entreated quietly, “I want to know so that I can help if need be. But first, I have a question for you.”

Hakuba first eyed him, then discretely inspected their surroundings. A hand slipped into a pocket for a moment, and Shinichi had very little doubt that the blond had activated an audio jammer. “All right. Fire away, Kudou-kun.”

The Tokyoite studied the man before him as he quietly asked, “Why did you try to warn me off in the beginning?”

The blond’s eyes widened in surprise. Clearly, that had not been something he had expected to be called out on. A fond smile curved his lips as an amused chuckle escaped him. “I did it because Kuroba-kun actually means a lot to me as a friend. He’s… never tried to play nice or put up false pretenses with me, even from the beginning when he was very much aware of who I was and what my social connections were—what with my father the Superintendent General of Japan and my mother a fashion house founder back in London. He treated me with a respect that I had needed to earn, not one that I was freely offered, and in so doing he became one of the few friends that I honestly wanted to keep by my side.”

Here, Hakuba snorted derisively. “Is it such a terrible thing that even though I want to catch Kaitou KID with my own hands, I will specifically call and incur international data fees in order to give Kuroba-kun hints as to how to evade capture when I am unable to personally attend a heist? I seem to be unable to separate KID and Kuroba-kun in my head because to me, they are just sides of the same coin—so where does that leave me, then, on the spectrum of criminal accomplice and enforcer of the law?”

Shinichi grinned a little back, understanding all too well the conundrum Hakuba described. “Honestly? KID is not a bad one as far as criminals are concerned. He’s certainly saved my life multiple times over, not to mention other people as well. As much as I’d like to catch KID one day, I’d rather let him go any day over a murderer. I can’t quite say the same about Kuroba-kun as I don’t know him as well, but I’d imagine that anyone who had the potential to be Kaitou KID cannot be that terrible of a person. Either way, I’m not sure I could say I know either of them well enough, in the end.”

“Right, your lack of evidence,” Hakuba breathed. “And I wouldn’t be so hasty in brushing off your relationship with KID—no, with Kuroba-kun. While I do believe you don’t rank quite as far up as the Nakamoris in terms of how near and dear you are to him, he likes and respects you enough that should anything happen to you, it would devastate him on a personal level because he would likely somehow get it into his head that it was his fault any way you look at it.”

The blond suddenly fixed Shinichi with a piercing, hard stare that had the brunet jerking back in surprised wariness. “You said you wanted to help him, right?” Shinichi nodded cautiously, somewhat unnerved by how intense Hakuba had become. “Then help him if you are able, but if you _bloody dare die on him_ I swear on all that is holy I will resurrect you and I will murder you _myself_.”

“Noted,” Shinichi—he would die before he admitted anything—squeaked.

“Kudou Shinichi?” the doctor from earlier, Doctor Uchiyama, approached the pair with a smile. “I have your preliminary diagnosis.” She flipped a few sheets of black and white film onto a backlit panel. “There is a clean fracture in your calcaneus—your heel bone,” she explained, pointing at a bold black squiggle that ran through the otherwise transparent white of the bone. “Because of the complete separation, we’ll have to reset it before we can put a cast on.”

Shinichi sighed deeply. “Let’s get it over with. I have someone I want to see as soon as possible.” The same nurse as before, Matsueda, once again showed up, this time sporting plaster, petroleum jelly, and bandages. “Good thing your foot is still numb, otherwise this is going to _really_ hurt,” Uchiyama muttered as she placed her hands on either side of his heel. “Ready?”

The detective nodded, and Uchiyama quickly pressed Shinichi’s heel bone back into proper alignment. “Done.” Shinichi hissed loudly through clenched teeth as he rode out the residual pain. Doctor and nurse propped his leg up and began the process of setting a cast around his ankle.

“I don’t envy you one bit,” Hakuba commented with remarkable calm once Shinichi was able to relax as the pain faded to a tolerable level.

“Screw you too,” he snipped back, and the half-Briton smirked in reply.

The duo was silent as the medics worked, and only spoke after they were given instructions to wait for the plaster to dry. Once that was done, Shinichi was free to go. “With regards to KID,” Hakuba opened, his voice soft, “I believe that Kuroba-kun became the phantom thief because he discovered that his father had been assassinated. There is plenty of evidence and eyewitnesses that have reported spotting shady people in black shooting at KID during a number of heists—”

Shinichi’s stomach dropped. _The Organization…?_

“—though any documentation made in the official reports end up mysteriously deleted or vanished. It is a matter that Nakamori-keibu is also aware of, and as we are also positive that KID is aware of the crosshairs on his head, we believe that he is using himself as bait to lure them out.”

This sounded far too similar to Shinichi’s own experiences for him to be comfortable with it. “They don’t show up every time though?”

“No,” Hakuba said with a shake of his head. “We haven’t ascertained any sort of pattern so far, but we are trying to—”

“I need to talk to him,” Shinichi interrupted. If there was even the slightest _chance_ that he had allowed someone from the Organization to slip through the cracks, Shinichi needed to get to work _immediately_.

The blond sighed and rolled his eyes. “Déjà vu,” he muttered.

Shinichi smirked. “Grab me a wheelchair—ugh, I hate the damn things,” he grumbled. “We’ll prop my leg up so that the cast can finish drying, but I need to visit Kuroba-kun. Hurry, while the staff is busy elsewhere.”

Hakuba complied, and the two detectives, for all intents and purposes, fled from the emergency department after Shinichi had forcefully announced to everyone at the nursing station that he was leaving whether they wanted to keep him or not. He was discharged in short order, and the pair made their way to the psychiatric ward. The blond asked if a Kuroba Kaito had been checked in, confirming his identity when asked. Shinichi did the same a moment later.

Inspector Nakamori was sitting beside Kuroba’s bed when they entered. Kuroba himself was asleep, the steady beep of the electrocardiogram reassuring Shinichi that the man was still here and with them. He was pale except for the petechiae flush on his cheeks, with a mask affixed over his nose and mouth, an IV drip attached to a forearm, and handcuffs on both of his wrists attaching him to the railing on the bed. The gauze around his neck had been redone, likely so that the doctors could inspect the sort of damage they were working with, but it also hid just how badly Kuroba had hurt himself. Shinichi sent a brief but fervent prayer of thanks to any listening deity for whoever had wrapped Kuroba’s neck; it was not something that he wanted the inspector to see.

“Keibu,” Hakuba greeted, and Nakamori glanced up from his dazed staring at Kuroba’s face.

“Oh, Hakuba-kun. And Kudou-kun.” The inspector appeared to have aged even more in the handful of hours since Shinichi had last seen him at the heist. He looked beyond tired, as even his _clothes_ seemed to wilt in exhaustion.

“How is he?” the blond asked quietly as he brought Shinichi to a halt on the side opposite of where the inspector sat.

Nakamori sighed. “Sedated. They’ve kept him under the entire time I’ve been here.” The inspector seemed to chew over his thoughts for a moment before he stood, walked around to where he was clearly in their line of sight, and said quietly as he knelt and prostrated himself on the floor in a perfect dogeza, “ _Thank you._ Both of you.”

“Oh, please, don’t—!” Hakuba sputter.

Shinichi was no better. “You don’t have to—!”

“I do,” Nakamori said forcefully, cutting them off. He curled in on himself more, and Shinichi saw the way his knuckles turned white from clenching them so hard. “Had it not been for you two,” he continued, and that normally gruff, confident voice shook so very _hard_. “I would’ve—” He choked, and tried again, “I would’ve lost two children in one day.”

 _Damn this fucking wheelchair!_ Shinichi mentally snarled. He wanted to drop onto the ground next to the inspector, to pull him up and tell him that regardless of what he thought, Kuroba’s actions were no fault of his own and that he could not be blamed for the suicide attempt. He wanted to shake the man until his teeth rattled, persuade him that he was not the terrible father he believed himself to be, that both his daughter and Kuroba loved him _so very much_.

Hakuba beat him to it, particularly since he was still mobile. “Nakamori-keibu,” he pleaded as he knelt next to the older man and gently pried him off the ground, “Please don’t blame yourself. None of us knew he was planning to do this, and it was only by chance that Kudou-kun and I happened to find him when we did.” He awkwardly rubbed Nakamori’s back. “If there is anyone we should thank, it should be to _Fujurokuju_.” The subtle emphasis, combined with the quick eye contact, was an oblique reference to Kaitou KID’s seemingly uncanny luck and ability to escape death multiple times over.

“Hakuba-kun’s right,” Shinichi fervently agreed, anything to help Nakamori overcome the remorse that he rightfully did not have to bear. “You didn’t know Kuroba-kun would react the way he did, right? You couldn’t have predicted that, so objectively you bear no guilt.” _Gods, why am I so utterly_ terrible _at dealing with people?_ Shinichi thought despairingly. _Where’s Ran when I need her?_

“Keibu,” he said, awkwardly rolling himself as close as he dared with the still damp plaster of his cast propped out in front of him, “why don’t you go home and rest? Hakuba-kun and I can watch over Kuroba-kun for the time you get some sleep.”

“Nakamori-san,” Hakuba murmured, and Shinichi noted the change in address to something less formal and restricting than their professional offices. This was Hakuba talking to Nakamori the mourning father, not Nakamori the head of the Kaitou KID Task Force. The blond gestured to the white blossom in the man’s breast pocket that had somehow survived the chaos of the heist. “Do you know what this flower is? Do you know what it means?”

Nakamori wordlessly shook his head, and Hakuba answered. “It’s an azalea. It has a couple of meanings, but I think the one KID wanted you to understand most was, ‘Take care of yourself for me’.”

It was something Shinichi had forgotten about in the mad adrenaline rush at Kuroba’s house, but now that Hakuba had brought it up, had Kuroba—if he was indeed KID, damn it!—meant it to be a goodbye message to his surrogate father? Surely not—Kuroba would not be so cruel as to subject Nakamori to two such horrible blows in such a short amount of time, unless…

… unless he felt that he was not an actual part of the Nakamori family, and was therefore not of particular importance to the mustached man kneeling on the floor before him. _Oh, Kuroba… is your sense of self-worth so damaged that you cannot tell that you are loved?_

Hakuba was quietly easing Nakamori off the ground with words too soft for him to hear. But he was glad that the half-Briton had been able to talk a small amount of sense into the man when Nakamori began shuffling for the door. Before he exited, he turn and asked, “If he wakes up, would you mind contacting me?”

“Of course,” the blond immediately said, and Shinichi nodded.

“All right then,” he mumbled. “I’ll see you two later.”

“Good night, Nakamori-san,” both he and Hakuba answered. Nakamori quietly shut the door after him, and once they were sure that he was not going to return, they eye each other speculatively before turning to gaze at the unconscious figure on the bed. “Should we wake him?” Hakuba’s voice was quiet and tentative.

Shinichi frowned. “I’d imagine he won’t be happy the moment he regains consciousness,” he said with equal amounts of hesitance, “but shouldn’t we allow him to get his initial freak out over before the doctors arrive?”

The blond winced. “That’s… probably a good idea.”

Hakuba wheeled Shinichi back to his original position next to the bed, then took Nakamori’s previous post on the other side. He reached out and pulled the clear mask off Kuroba’s face, stretching the elastic enough to place it on the crown of his head.

They waited. Shinichi offhandedly wondered if the doctors had given him a high enough dose of whatever sedative they were using. He knew from experience that KID had developed a rather high resistance to them, which then brought a brief moment of panic at the idea that they had given Kuroba _just_ enough to keep him from moving, but not enough to keep him fully under. Shinichi had heard horror stories of hospital patients who had not been given enough general anesthesia and had awoken mid surgery, were awake and aware but unable to move, or something equally terrifying. He hoped that was not the case with Kuroba.

The increased frequency of beeps preceded a soft moan that drew the detective from his rather dark thoughts, and while he was unable to get up to lean closer, Hakuba stood and leaned over so that his face would be the first thing Kuroba saw. Dark eyelashes fluttered and groggy eyes blinked open. Kuroba’s brows furrowed in momentary confusion before widening as much as the forced sleepiness would allow, and he began to wheeze heavily.

Hakuba gently but urgently shushed Kuroba, interrupting the building anxiety he could read in the man’s eyes. “It’s okay, Kuroba-kun, you’re okay. You’re okay. We’re in the hospital right now.”

“Ha—Hakuba,” Kuroba croaked. There was a rattle of metal on plastic, and both detectives reached out to gently grasp the hand closest to them. “Wha—?”

“We found you—Kudou-kun and I—we found you at your house, and I thought for sure that I had lost you,” and here, Hakuba’s voice cracked with emotion as tears welled up in his eyes. “Why? _Why_ would you do something so…?” He trailed off, unable to articulate his thoughts further. Instead, he tightened his grip on Kuroba’s hand and sat down on his chair so that he could press the man’s hand against his forehead.

Kuroba’s gaze softened and glistened at the unusually emotive display from the blond. “I—I’m sorry, Hakuba,” he apologized.

“You could have—you could’ve—!” the blond spluttered.

“I know.” Kuroba’s voice was rough from the abuse he put it through, and Shinichi wondered if damage of that sort would affect his vocal capabilities as KID.

The detective lightly squeezed the hand in his own, letting Kuroba know there was another person in the room. Kuroba slowly twisted his head towards him, emotions flitting through his eyes too fast to identify. “Kudou.”

“Kuroba-kun,” Shinichi acknowledged, unsure of what else to say to this man that he potentially knew so well and yet not at all. “I’m sorry about Aoko-san,” he finally settled on, certain that it was very much inadequate for what he wanted to express.

Kuroba smiled weakly and wordlessly squeezed his hand in reply. He suddenly gasped and lurched up, startling both Shinichi and Hakuba. “The dress!” he wheezed in panic as the electrocardiogram bleeped loudly in warning. “Ahoko!”

“No one’s touched the dress, Kuroba-kun,” Hakuba soothed, his expression harried. “It’s exactly where you left it; neither of us touched it.”

Hakuba’s words calmed him enough to immediately reduce the tempo of his heartbeat. Shinichi hid a frown as his own heartrate dropped after its spike of alarm. Kuroba’s need to ensure that the dress was still there—no. He decided that tonight was not the night to unbox all of Kuroba’s mental hang ups. He had done enough of that with Hakuba earlier that evening; now that Kuroba was awake, his priority was making sure that he was comfortable remaining _alive_.

Which meant not touching off any triggers Kuroba assuredly had.

As Hakuba lightly scolded Kuroba for the scare, Shinichi decided he would accept that challenge head on. He would do his absolute best to ensure that not only Kuroba remained among the living, but he would also convince him that life was worth living—that _his_ life was equally as precious as anyone else’s—and he was suddenly so pathetically grateful that he had been given this chance.

Hakuba and Kuroba began to bicker in a way that spoke of long familiarity, and while Shinichi more than felt like the odd man out, he recalled the blond’s words.

 _“Then help him if you are able, but if you_ bloody dare die on him _I swear on all that is holy I will resurrect you and I will murder you_ myself _.”_

He smiled then, gratefully, softly, fondly, at the two before him, and promised that he would ensure that Hakuba would never have an excuse to harm a single hair on his head.

The most difficult challenges, after all, were the generally the ones worth attempting.

And Kuroba—KID—whoever he was—was _more_ than worth the attempt.

\---

Adonis, white – sorrowful remembrance  
Azalea, white – temperance, take care of yourself for me, fragility  
Baby’s breath – everlasting love, purity of heart, innocence  
Calendula, white – grief, sorrow, despair  
Daisy – innocence, beauty  
Edelweiss – noble courage, daring  
Freesia, white – innocence, friendship, trust  
Lilac, white – youthful innocence  
Sweet pea, white – departure, goodbye, delicate pleasure, blissful pleasure, tender memory  
Violet, white – candor, innocence  
Zinnia, white – thoughts of absent friends, I mourn your absence

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: I made myself cry writing this. Also, why the hell do I keep writing heists when they are such a pain in the ass to think up, and how did this end up being such a monster? Anyhow, I had done an excessive amount of research on the Mori Art Museum on the fifty-third floor of the Roppongi Hills Mori Tower for a different fic—which meant that I could recall the floorplans well enough to not even have to look them up. Now I kind of know how Kaito feels after he’s prepped himself for a heist. I hadn’t intended on what ended up going down in Kaito’s house—that was not part of the original plan at all and somehow my nice and neat ending was hijacked for—for this! A broken heel is no joke, I can promise you, since I have done exactly that. And fuck you, Saguru, for going all psychoanalyst-y on me. Kaito practicing ninjutsu is a personal headcanon of mine. Hanakotoba meanings are listed below. Fujurokuju is one of the Seven Gods of Fortune in Japanese mythology, and in particular, he is the god of wisdom, luck, longevity, health, and happiness. I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> \---
> 
> Many thanks to LadyShadowMage for prodding me with encouragement and putting up with my multiple rants during the creation of this piece despite not knowing how horrible a tale I was writing.
> 
> \---
> 
> Completed: 20.08.2020


End file.
